


A Cop and a Lawyer Walked Into a Bar

by motherbearof3



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Marriage Promise, drunken admissions, im really bad at tags, secret feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 12:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherbearof3/pseuds/motherbearof3
Summary: Picks up in Forlini’s at the end of “October Surprise” after Amaro left them together. Too many drinks later Barba makes a proposal that only one of them remembers the next day.





	A Cop and a Lawyer Walked Into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> I could have kept tweaking this, but I just stopped or this would have never been posted. The beginning is better than the end, I think, and I thought there would be more canoodling but they had other ideas.

Benson looked at her watch. Close enough. She raised her glass of club soda at Anthony.

“I’ll have what he’s having.” She waved her hand toward Barba’s glass.

The ADA raised an eyebrow. The few times he and the detective had drinks together, she restricted herself to soft drinks or water. She shrugged. 

“You shouldn’t drink alone,” Benson replied. “Besides, it’s quitting time.”

When Barba shared his mother’s comment about Alex Muñoz from when he was a child, she saw the hurt in his eyes and she knew all too well the pain a parent could inflict. Knowingly and without thinking. Picking up the tumbler that had been placed before her, Benson swiveled her barstool and pointed her chin toward the area behind him.

“Want to get a table?”

He rose and she followed him deeper into the bar, allowing herself a moment to admire his broad shoulders and back beneath his crisp white shirt that was tucked into pants above a nice — 

Benson stopped short, nearly colliding into the back that had held her attention when he paused and indicated a booth.

“This okay?”

“Perfect.” 

She slid onto the bench closest to her, thinking that described more than just his choice of tables. Barba put his suit jacket down on the one opposite her and took his own seat.

“To what do I owe this sidebar, Detective?”

He took a swallow from his own glass.

She shrugged. 

“This case was hard. Two of your friends. I just thought you might need another one to talk to.”

“We’re friends?”

“I’d like to think so.”

She smiled warmly at him and sipped her own drink.

From there the conversation flowed freely, as did the alcohol, and before long he was telling her about how he’d lost Yelina to Alex when he went to college. She shared the story about the graduate student who she wanted to run away with and marry, and how it’s hard to maintain a relationship when you’re a police officer, let alone a female one.

“My mother is afraid I’m going to die old and alone,” Barba confided, his words slurring ever so slightly. 

He was drunker than she realized, because he had learned long ago to hold his liquor. Benson giggled, an indication she was more than buzzed as well. Olivia Benson rarely giggled.

“My mother did die old and alone. Well, alone anyway. She wasn’t that old.”

“Olivia, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” 

She waved her hand dismissively and drank what was left in her glass in one swallow. 

“I probably will too. Die alone.”

“Don’t say that. There’s someone out there for everyone -- even if you need a pickaxe, a compass and night goggles to find them.”

“Who said that?” Benson asked.

“Steve Martin. Some of my best Saturday nights were spent watching him on SNL.” 

He grinned lopsidedly at her. Barba lifted his hand and magically, it seemed to Benson, a smiling server appeared with two shot glasses and two tall glasses of water.

“Last round, you two. Anthony’s orders,” she said.

“Party pooper,” Barba muttered. Then he turned his green eyes on the woman opposite him, whose cheeks were flushed from drink.

“I’ll tell you what,” he proposed, tossing back his last drink and putting the shot glass down on the table with a thunk. “If neither one of us are in a serious relationship — ”

He made air quotes with his fingers which made Benson giggle again, because it seemed like such a silly thing for the Ivy League educated lawyer to do.

“What?”

“Nothing.” 

She shook her head, which made her feel a little woozy, so she took a drink from her glass of water, leaving her shot untouched.

“So if neither of us are in a serious relationship by the time we’re 50, how about if we marry each other? That way, my mother won’t be disappointed and you won’t die alone.”

Benson slapped her palm down on the table between them.

“That is an excellent idea, counselor.” 

Then she frowned. 

“Wait. You’re younger than me.”

“I am? How do you know that?”

Benson leaned across the table toward him and stage whispered.

“I’m a detective, remember?”

“That you are. Okay, since a gentleman never asks a ladies’ age, I won’t ask how much older. So how about when you’re 50?” he said, smiling.

His eyes crinkled when he smiled, Benson noticed. And his eyes weren’t just green. They had a multitude of different colored flecks in them. She nodded.

“Perfect.”

Then she slid a paper napkin toward him.

“Write it down. And we can both sign it to make it official.”

Barba fished his gold pen from the inside pocket of his jacket and wrote on the napkin, the tip of his tongue pressed against his top lip as he concentrated. Even a drunken contract on a napkin needed to be properly written. He signed his name with a flourish and spun it around toward Benson, holding out the pen for her to take. She did, noticing the metal was warm from his grasp, and signed her name, adding the date after it, then slid it back to him.

“You keep it somewhere safe. With other ‘mportant legal documents.”

He nodded and put it in the pocket with his pen.

“So five years from now…..the two of us will….” he trailed off.

Even inebriated, Barba was having a hard time saying the words ‘get married’ to the woman sitting opposite him that he had a sudden urge to kiss. Benson didn’t notice he didn’t finish the sentence or that his math was correct. She just nodded.

“I’ll hold you to it,” she said solemnly.

The next morning Olivia woke up half dressed in her clothes from the day before, a gentle pounding at her temples and a taste in her mouth that it took two rounds of toothpaste and extra mouthwash to eliminate before she even turned on the shower. As she stood under the water, she thought back to the evening before and the drinks and conversation she’d shared with the ADA. They’d talked about the case, his friendship with Muñoz and she frowned, massaging shampoo into her hair, the action easing some of the pain in her head. They had talked about growing old and being alone and -- her eyes shot open, heedless of the suds running down her face.

“Shit!”

The exclamation covered both the stinging and the vague memory of signing her name on a paper napkin “document” that the two of them would get married if both were unattached by the time she was fifty. But by the time she was dressed, Olivia had convinced herself the napkin was on its way to a landfill via one of New York City’s garbage trucks. Because there was no way she and Rafael Barba were going to marry each other, the way his pants fit notwithstanding. He on the other hand, woke with the same headache but no memory of the piece of paper. What he did remember was how SVU’s lead detective brown eyes sparkled when she laughed and was wondering when he would get to see that again and if he had any business that would take him to the one-six that day.

Two months later when the dry cleaners returned an order to the ADA’s office, there was an envelope pinned to the covering over the hangers of suits. On it was a note that said the item inside had been found in a jacket pocket and they thought he might want his “legal document” back. The note ended with a large winking smiley face. Carmen accepted the delivery as she always did and hung the suits in the closet in Barba’s office. Just to make sure it wasn’t something important, she looked inside the envelope, a broad smile breaking over her face. Returning the napkin to the envelope, Carmen put it in one of her boss’s desk drawers where he kept personal items like Playbills, ticket stubs and the occasional thank you card he received from grateful victims. Later that day, she told him the cleaners had returned a paper they found in one of his suits and where she’d put it. He nodded, his mind on a dozen other things, and never looked in the drawer.

Years passed and the friendship between the Benson and Barba grew stronger. Twice in those years did Olivia give that night in Forlini’s a second thought. Once when her relationship with Brian Cassidy ended -- for the second time -- and then again the night that she and Ed Tucker broke up. By that point, she had adopted Noah and fifty was looming closer than it had been that night she had drunkenly agreed to Barba’s proposal. Lying in bed that night with the empty space beside her seeming colder and larger than usual, she remembered telling the ADA she would probably die old and alone and how he was quick to assure her there was a match for everyone, using a quote by Steve Martin to make her laugh. She smiled into the darkness. Even now, even after seeing him dressed in jeans, she still couldn’t picture him watching Saturday Night Live. She could, however, possibly see them together. Maybe. There had been a reason why she could never bring herself to get as serious with Ed as he wanted. In the back of her mind was that silly drunken promise. Barba hadn’t dated anyone since, that she was aware, let alone been in a relationship. But he clearly didn’t recall what he’d written on the napkin. Not even when he asked her what she was going to be doing at 85 a couple years before when he was dealing with his grandmother and she replied squabbling with him. All he said was, wouldn't that be nice.

She was only partly wrong.

Barba didn’t remember their inebriated agreement, but if he had, he might have tried a little harder to show Olivia how he really felt about her. He’d seen both the tough and tender sides of the now leader of the special victims unit. Especially since she’d become a mother. Every time he saw her with Noah, she stole another piece of his heart. She’d also broke it when he found out she was sleeping with Ed Tucker. As far as he could tell, he was nothing more than a friend to her. She seemed to prefer men like Brian Cassidy and the IAB Lieutenant. Even after it was he who was there for her when Sheila Porter kidnapped Noah. He couldn’t help but put his arms around her that day. It was the first time they’d been that close. And when she opened her apartment door to let him in once the boy was home safe he half wished the rest of her squad wasn’t in the room beyond her. Then everything went to hell in a handbasket and the next time they embraced was when he was declared not guilty of killing baby Drew Householder. He was surprised when she put her arms around him that day. But that chain of events is how he ended up where he was: packing up the office he’d had for six years. He had one drawer left. The one where he had tossed all his personal items that migrated to his office instead of to his apartment. He had just put a Playbill from Hamilton in a box, remembering the night he’d been about to enter the theatre and was called to squadroom about a case. The next item was an envelope with the return address of a dry cleaners he used years ago; since closed. He frowned at the words on it. What legal document could have gotten left in a jacket pocket?

Opening the flap, he reached inside and removed not a folded piece of paper, but a soft, white cocktail napkin. When he turned it over, memories came flooding back. The day he had watched his oldest friend be charged with possession of child pornography. Amaro had left him and Olivia in Forlini’s. She stayed, knowing he needed a friend, and talking led to drinking and drinking led to admissions which led to what he held in his hand:

**OFFICIAL LEGAL DOCUMENT**

**We, the undersigned, do hereby agree that if by the time we are 50 years old** ****  
**(well, one of us will be) and without a Significant Other, ** **  
****we will marry so as not to die old and alone.**

Both their signatures were at the bottom of the words, the date alongside hers. The napkin, having spent the last five years in the envelope, was un-aged and the ink as clear as if it had just been written. Rafael couldn’t breathe. How had he forgotten about this? He didn’t have to do the math. It was Olivia’s birthday. She was 50 years old. 

Before he could think on it further, his attention was drawn to the outer office and he saw the other party to the topic at hand talking to Carmen as she made her way to his doorway, looking flushed and uncharacteristically flustered.

“Rafael!” 

“Olivia. Something wrong?” 

Everything was wrong, he thought.

“Yes!” 

She tore off her coat, warm from rushing to his office hoping he hadn’t already packed up and left, and flung it across a nearby chair.

“Tell me you didn’t quit. Tell me you aren’t leaving the DA’s office!”

He’d told her recently the courthouse leaked like a sieve, and the fact that his resignation had gotten to her so quickly was proof of that. There was an edge to her voice that he couldn’t identify. When he didn’t immediately rebut her statements, she visibly deflated, her shoulders slumping.

“You are,” Olivia said softly. She met his eyes and then looked away, so he wouldn’t see the disappointment in them.

“I can’t stay, Liv,” he said equally softly.

He crossed to his door and closed it, then took her arm and led her to the leather couch where they’d spent many an hour discussing cases. They sat down beside each other, Rafael on the edge of the cushion turned toward her, hands in loose fists on his thighs, the napkin still in his right hand. He worried his lower lip between his teeth as she looked at him, her eyes pleading with him not to say what she knew was true.

“I can’t stay, Liv,” Rafael repeated. “Not guilty doesn’t mean innocent. You of all people know that.”

“What are you going to do? You could go into private practice. Calhoun or Buchanan would love to have you on their side.”

Her mouth turned up in a small sardonic smile. The comment forced a laugh from his lungs. Rita Calhoun was his oldest friend next to Alex and Eddie, but he didn’t think her partners would take kindly to a baby killer on their payroll. He shook his head.

“I don’t think I could defend the kind of people I’ve spent years putting behind bars.”

“Then what?”

“I -- I don’t know, Liv.”

Rafael stood and walked across the room to the windows he had looked out so many times, seeking inspiration or solace. 

“I had a good run with the DA’s office. And I’ve lived here my entire life. But I’m wondering if this isn’t a good time to move on.”

He closed eyes and said it to the window because he didn’t want to see her face as he verbalized a thought that had been hovering at the edges of his subconscious for longer than he wanted to admit. The small intake of her breath told him she heard him clearly enough. Minutes went by and neither of them spoke. He opened his eyes but didn’t turn back to her. He’d put his hands in his pockets when he went to the window and Rafael finally realized he still held the napkin. Did Olivia remember? he wondered. Was she still there? He hadn’t heard the door, so she had to be. Finally, setting his jaw, he spun on his heel to meet whatever tongue lashing she had for him. His eyes widened when he saw her standing less than arms’ length away. The carpet had silenced her coming up behind him. She was wearing lower heeled boots so they were more or less eye to eye.

“You can’t --,” Olivia began, her voice catching. 

She stopped, swallowed, and tried again, stepping closer. 

“Don’t leave, Rafa.”

Olivia raised her hands, hovering over his chest, then gave into the impulse and lowered them. Rafael could feel their warmth through his shirt and undershirt beneath and she could feel his heart beating under her palm. They gazed at each other for what seemed like minutes. Brown eyes locked on green. Then her fingers slowly curled around his suspenders and pulled him closer until their mouths were almost touching. 

“Please.”

The word was more like a breath than a spoken sound. He felt it on his lips, before she pressed hers to his. The touch was featherlight and if his eyes had been closed, Rafael might not have believed it happened. But his eyes were still open, looking into hers as she pulled back infinitesimally, gauging his reaction to something she’d thought of doing but never before dared. The amount of red tape alone, for a police officer and someone from the DA’s office to be in a relationship was enough to put a person off. But Olivia had thought about it. A lot. And now that he had resigned as an ADA, that deterrent was gone. Her heart pounded and she wondered if she’d just made a big mistake. Then his hands were at her waist, pulling her flush against him and he returned the kiss. His was equally gentle, but with increased pressure and longer duration. Olivia’s hands released his suspenders and slid around his neck as she tilted her head to allow him better access to her mouth. As his lips caressed hers, she could feel the faintest roughness of his beard. The tip of his tongue touched her lower lip and she parted her lips for him. Her tongue met his and he tasted like coffee as she knew he would. And involuntary sound rose from the back of Rafael’s throat as he tasted the sweetness of the woman in his arms. This is what he’d been missing in his life. How had he waited this long? Finally, feeling lightheaded, Olivia pulled her mouth from his and drew a deep breath before resting her forehead against his. 

“Does this mean you’re staying?” she whispered.

Rafael’s arms tightened around her waist for a moment then he released her and took a step back. Olivia’s stomach plummeted for a moment before she saw the lopsided smile on his face that made it jump back up into her throat. He tipped his head before reaching into his pants and withdrawing the napkin, now crumpled from being in his hand and then pocket.

“How can I leave when we have an official legal document binding us together?”

He held out the white square and her eyebrows came together in confusion first and then rose in surprise as she took it and smoothed it out.

“You kept this?”

“Involuntarily, it seems,” Rafael admitted. 

He reached out and grasped her other hand; intertwining their fingers.

“I’d forgotten it existed until moments before you arrived. Can I buy you a drink and tell you about it?” 

He smiled. The first real smile she’d seen on him in weeks; maybe months. Olivia laughed and leaned in to kiss him as if she’d been doing that for years.

“I think that’s how this,” she held up the napkin, “got started, but yes, absolutely.”

Years later, when people would ask how they ended up together, Rafael always started with “a cop and a lawyer walked into a bar…”


End file.
